i should have plenty of muse these days. after all, i reached the holy grail! i chased that thing that i thought i needed and that would define the next chapter of my life. and i caught it. see, isn’t it gorgeous?

okay, now what?

i’ve written at least three “first posts of the new year” and haven’t published them. i haven’t published much of anything lately. probably won’t publish this. ha! and i haven’t been tweeting profound or comical #sixwords. haven’t been reading too many of the blogs i usually follow. i don’t think i’m depressed, just relatively uninspired. apathetic.

also in a way i feel like i’ve already written it. nothing seems new anymore. i think that’s the downside of knowledge & growth sometimes. unless the answers inspire more questions it seems almost pointless to come to any firm conclusions, at least from an artistic standpoint. and so i have to wonder if i’m just missing the new questions. am i ignoring them? have i forgotten how to listen?

submerged in a mire
obsessed, i sought every distraction…

i know expectations have stolen away some of the magic. expectations from others but mostly my own. i miss the anonymity of writing under pseudonym. i miss the fun and tragic necessity. now i find myself questioning the quality and interpretation of everything i write, so instead of posting i’m just putting them in “the vault.” if i even get that far.

so something has to change. i need new revelation. i need to write for me again. and i need to find that voice again. it’s too late to go back to writing anonymously, although that is very tempting. but that seems like a step backwards instead of forward. no, i think i need to continue my journey right here. i put my name on it so that i couldn’t run, and i won’t.

sorry, i don’t really have any optimistic & heartening words to start off 2012 with. i don’t have any beautiful dreams, tragic romance or painful humanity to paint for you today. and i might not for awhile.

i’m just a boy with an old raggedy leather-bound journal & a dull pencil. sometimes when i sit by the river i jot down words that bloom in my mind like mysterious seedlings, swept here by the wind, caught in a barely moist rocky cold place.